


Before My Eyes

by timetospy



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), SPECTRE (2015), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Coma, Gen, Grim Reapers, Hallucinations, Hospitalization, M/M, Magical Realism, Personification of Death, Suggestions welcome, or not really, this is fucking hard to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 14:12:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6473299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timetospy/pseuds/timetospy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He must choose,” Death had said in the slow, raspy voice of wind through dead leaves. “And since you knew him in life, you are the one to give him this choice.”<br/>“Why me?”<br/>“Because he loved you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before My Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated, as always, to the lovely [jordankaine](http://www.jordankaine.tumblr.com), who has kept me sane (mostly) and fed me equal amounts of fluff and angst as needed, and is always up for talking 00q headcanons, even when they're ridiculous. THANK YOU!

There was a flickering fluorescent light in the hall. She wondered how long it had been on its last legs, buzzing and flashing and driving those who were still awake at this hour around the bend. She wasn’t here about the light bulb, though.

She floated through the halls, drifting past rooms she knew she would be required to visit soon, maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after. Empty rooms she’d already sat in, taking atrophied hands in hers as she lifted them away.

She knew she’d have to do this, one day. Ever since she’d been plucked from the line of those who’d chosen death and given this responsibility, she’d been waiting for him. They’d danced before, of course, Death was never far away from a man like James Bond, but this time Death had sent her personally.

“He must choose,” Death had said in the slow, raspy voice of wind through dead leaves. “And since you knew him in life, you are the one to give him this choice.”

“Why me?”

“Because he loved you.”

And that was all there was to be said about that.

She found the door. It had been calling to her in a way she couldn’t quite understand. Not in words, not in images, but a tug at her center that drew her inexorably forward toward her destination.

She hovered outside it for a moment, then was suddenly on the other side.

It was a non-descript long-term care room, with a single hospital bed and two uncomfortable chairs and a large plate glass window that looked out onto nothing much at all except the roof of the building next door. The curtains were open and the sky beyond was that vague orange color of a city at night. It felt like being in a painting, the palette matched the mood.

She was surprised to find that she was not alone.

Not in the way she expected, anyway.

Seated in one of the chairs was a man - thin, pale, with a shock of dark hair. He was pretending to read a book, a flexible neck lamp arched over one shoulder. Every few minutes, he would look up at James, lying in the bed, attached to heart monitors and respirators and God knew what else, and sigh. His eyes were red-rimmed and exhausted, but full of regret, longing, love. She knew that expression. She’d worn it herself, two decades before.

She was glad that James wasn’t alone. Pleased that he had found someone who could care for him. Be devoted to him in a way she never could have been, even if she’d survived. The man rose from his seat, took the two steps to the side of the bed, and squeezed James’ hand.

“I’m going downstairs for some tea,” he said. “When I get back, maybe I’ll read to you some more.”

She might like to hear that herself, the man’s voice was lilting and musical and light. 

He smiled, more to bolster himself that for James’ benefit, and slipped out of the room, closing the door behind him with barely a sound.

She sat on the bed, smoothed away the crease between his eyebrows with her thumb. His hair was more silver than blond now, and his face had far more creases in it than she remembered, but he was still as handsome as ever. She wondered if it was a nurse who shaved him every morning, or if the man did. She rather thought it was the man. No mere nurse would be so thorough on a man not expected to wake up. 

His eyes opened.

Well, no. Not really.

It had taken her by surprise when the first one had done it, flicking their eyes open to stare into hers. It was a trick of her… power, she guessed she could call it, although that wasn’t the right word. Her sight. 

“I suppose I’m dead, then.”

She’d missed his voice, the deep rumble of it, but she missed his laughter more.

“No. Not quite.”

“Then why are you here?”

“You’ve been sleeping for a long time, James. It’s time for you to decide.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I was sent to help. You can guess why.”

“Death has a brutal sense of humor?”

She laughed, his flippancy about the situation was so typically him.

“While that is true, I think you know the real answer.”

His eyes softened, and he reached up to cup her cheek in his hand. She leaned into the touch, the warmth of him flooding her from head to toe.

“Is it really you? Or is this some kind of fever dream? I thought my life was supposed to flash before my eyes or something.”

“Don’t say that. Not yet. Don’t choose quickly just because I’m here. You have someone waiting for you to wake up.”

He pulled his hand away, and his eyes unfocused.

“He’s not waiting. He’s got work to do.”

“He was here when I arrived. I heard him tell you he was going out to get tea. He promised to read to you when he returned.”

His jaw tightened.

“Fool. Waiting around for an old man to die.”

“I told you not to be hasty about that. You have a choice. That’s why I’m here.”

“A choice? I didn’t think death gave you a choice.”

“Usually he doesn’t. But,” she smiled, “sometimes there are exceptions.”

He huffed through his nose.

“That’s me, exceptional, even in death.”

“Stop that.”

“Right, whatever this is. Not-death.”

“We have an hour, maybe a little more. Is there anything you want to see, anything you want to do, before you decide?”

He lifted the wires connected to his chest.

“I don’t think I’m going much of anywhere.”

She grinned.

“Give me your hand.”

She held hers out, and after giving her a considering look, he lifted his own and placed it in her open palm. She squeezed once, gently, then closed her eyes. This was always the most difficult part, allowing the consciousness to rise while leaving enough to keep the body functional. It’s why they had such a limited time. More than an hour, ninety minutes at the most, and the choice would be made regardless.

When her eyes opened, they were standing in the middle of some kind of underground room, people bustled everywhere, and James was standing next to her in his hospital gown. There were two dozen people all stationed at computer screens, six or eight more with various pieces of machinery, a smattering standing near a large something covered in plastic sheeting.

James grabbed at his gown with his free hand, pulling it tightly closed in the back.

“They can’t see you,” she whispered. “Or hear, for that matter. And since when were you so shy?” She grinned and poked him with her elbow. 

“Since I ended up on the wrong side of fifty,” he groused. “Do you know what that does?”

“It turns you a bit soft around the middle, I think, and a bit soft around the heart, too. Where are we?” 

James quirked an eyebrow at her, but didn’t press.

“Welcome to Q-branch. I’d worry about state secrets, but I don’t think you’ll be telling anyone that’ll make a difference.”

“I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I’d love to tell you that I’ve met -” her voice stopped, and her lips froze. She gagged on the name for a few breathless moments before she stopped trying. It wasn’t anyone political, just a musician. But she couldn’t even speak his name, let alone reveal the secrets she now carried in her, and would for all eternity. She’d carried so many secrets, for as long as she could remember, and her death was no different.

“Ah. Well, that’s reassuring.”

“That is the point. Why are we here?”

James shrugged.

She fixed him with a sardonic smile and he had the decency to stare at the floor.

“Let’s try somewhere else, then.”

They arrived at a snow-covered square in St. Petersburg, a beach in Jamaica, a village in Bolivia, a windswept moor in Scotland, a tiny flat in Vauxhall that was full of photographs of James with the dark-haired man from the hospital room.

James was silent through it all, face a mask of stoic impassivity, but he never let go of her hand. 

The last stop was Venice.

“James,” she said as they stood on a rooftop overlooking a lagoon that was disturbingly familiar. “Don’t.”

“Why not?” He turned to face her and cupped her cheek again. “I wish you’d have let me help you. Then -”

“Oh,” she said.

They were back in the hospital room, and James sank slowly back into his body, and his eyes opened again.

“It’s time,” she said gently, running her fingertips over that familiar face, memorizing the way his eyes creased at the corners. 

He caught her wrist, kissing her fingertips before laying it on his chest and covering it with his own.

“Thank you,” he said, smiling.

“You’re welcome. And thank you.” She could feel tears pricking the corners of her eyes. This was usually where she helped them step out completely, out into the light that brought them to whatever it was that awaited those souls destined for peace. 

“Vesper,” he whispered.

“Yes,” she replied, turning her hand up under his and clasping it.

“I’ve been fighting a long time. Too long. And I want some peace.”

She nodded. She had thought this would be his answer, even after revisiting his life, the ways in which his struggles had changed the course of history itself. He was tired. He had every right to be.

“I understand.”

“It would be so easy to go with you,” he said, and squeezed her hand. But then he withdrew it and laid it on the blanket by his side. 

She sat up, frowning. 

“I can feel the pull of it,” he continued, “I can feel the lure of peace. And it is so very tempting. I suppose that’s on purpose, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” she replied. “I don’t get to see that part. That’s not what I do.”

“No? Pity. It would have been an incentive if you’d come with the package.”

She chuckled.

“You’re incorrigible.”

He grinned.

“And you’re beautiful. But I have some unfinished business-”

The handle of the door jiggled.

“Yes.” she said. “Yes, I think you do.” She bent and kissed his cheek, then stood and stepped away from the bed. “Goodbye, James. Be happy.”

“Goodbye, Vesper.”

She retreated to a corner. She’d never witnessed this part. All the others she’d helped had chosen to go with her, follow her to that long tunnel of light that she would never walk.

The door opened, and the dark-haired man entered again, balancing a mug of tea and a well-loved paperback in his hand as he pushed at the weighted door.

“I’m back,” he said.

She watched as he set the tea and book down on the rolling table behind his chair and stood by the bed, taking James’ hand and squeezing. There was a moment of silence, then the man leaned over James and peered intently at him.

“James?” he said, the desperate hope in his voice breaking her heart.

There was another beat, then she saw James’ eyelids flutter, just for a moment, and the man sat up and looked over his shoulder, as though he hoped someone else was there to affirm that he wasn’t hallucinating.

“James?” he asked again, breathless.

And James’ eyes opened for real, and the smile in them as he stared at the young man was all the proof she needed that he would, indeed, be happy.

She found herself in the hall again, floating outside the door where the man was just beginning to shout for a nurse, and she drifted off, following the pull of the next soul on the cusp. 

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr for this fandom (and a couple others) is [here](http://www.timetospy.tumblr.com).


End file.
